Age of Oppression
by TrashPanda11819
Summary: Nord / Dunmer hybrid Urd Blood-Banner defies prejudice and doubt as she joins the Stormcloak rebellion to prove her place in her late father's Skyrim. As dragons return to Tamriel and brothers wage war for the right to rule, Urd must decide her stance on the conflict and find out for herself if she is merely an elf or a true daughter of Skyrim. (Rated M. Eventual Ralof/OC.)
1. The Half-Blooded Bastard

Chapter One: The Half-Blooded Bastard

At the midnight hour, Windhelm was dark and silent. The occasional guard patrolled the shadows and Hilda the Unseen shivered frightfully in the chilling cold, wearing only rags to keep her warm, yet the streets remained as still and as lifeless as a grave. That is, until a voice rose over the quiet... It began so soft that the frozen wind easily carried it away. However, it gradually built up in power, growing in volume until it echoed throughout the snowy city.

"We drink to our youth, to days come and gone... For the age of oppression is now nearly done."

In the dank slum known as the Gray Quarter, half-breed Urd Blood-Banner sat cross-legged atop a sealed-off rubbish barrel, strumming a lute with dark lithe fingers as her voice continued to regale the darkness.

"We'll drive off the Empire from this land that we own... With our blood and our steel, we will take back our home."

As if to join in on her melody, the aurora lights began to dance in the clear, starry sky above, blazing like a celestial wildfire. Her crimson eyes regarded them with a cheerful gleam before she lidded them again, taking in a deep breath and sending off her song in an icy, cloudy breath.

"All hail to Ulfric! You are the High King... In your great honor, we drink and we sing."

She opened her eyes again, her face somber as she sang: "We're the children of Skyrim and we fight all our lives. And, when Sovngarde beckons, everyone of us dies."

Her voice paused a moment as she exhaled a deep sigh, briefly lifting her fingers away from the lute's cords to shake them awake as the nerves began to dull from the cold. Once she felt blood begin to flow in them again, she returned her fingertips to the instrument and cleared her voice.

"But, this land is ours, and we'll see it wiped clean of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our-!"

"This place reeks of gray-skin filth!" A voice, joined by slurred affirmation, shouted amid the dark alleys of the Gray Quarter, making Urd grit her teeth in annoyance as she heard the footsteps grow closer. Rolff Stone-Fist rounded the bend that separated the rest of Windhelm from the slums and immediately spotted Urd atop the rubbish bin as she pretended to not notice the Nords by distracting herself with tuning her lute. "I thought someone may have forgotten to seal off those barrels, but I should've known that smell was you, half-breed."

Despite her agitation, Urd responded instead with a feigned smile as she greeted the men while they walked past. "Oh? A fine evening to you, too, Rolff – Angrenor…" As she addressed each of the men, her red eyes shifted between them, first to Rolff then to a man in rags who was once a proud veteran in the rebellion and glaring angrily to her. "What brings you to the Gray Quarter this evening? Done drinking already?" She wrinkled her nose amid her honeyed words and forced smile; the stink of cheap mead on their breaths as they walked past made her stomach churn.

The men halted at Urd, whose smiled faded to a foreboding glare as the men turned to face her. Rolff stepped forward, hiccuping a moment as he tilted his head towards her, cupping his hand to his ear that was reddened with cold as if he didn't hear her. "What was that, gray-skin? You say something?"

Urd scowled deeper at the derogatory name, but strummed the first few chords of her previous song and spoke over them as she responded. "Nothing, friend. Simply that if Elda has kicked you out of her inn already, you might try the Cornerclub for a drink instead. May open up your mind a bit..." She snickered to herself as she internally thought… That, or that old whinger Ambarys will run a sword through your gullet. Either way, I would win.

"Peh!" Rolff spat at the half-elf, making her flinch as the spit splattered against her cheek and oozed down the dark flesh. "You've some nerve to suggest I'd even be caught dead in that filthy place… I'd rather drink a mug full of troll's piss!"

Having endured the abuse enough, Urd was already done being civil. Red eyes glaring up to the Nord after dragging the back of her hand across her sullied cheek, the half-breed sneered and chuckled. "Ahh, but at least troll's piss is warm compared to you and your company, Rolff," she remarked, a proud and wry grin crossing her face. However, it did not remain there long as she felt a fist bash soundly against her jaw, knocking her from her perch atop the barrel.

"You do well to watch your tongue, half-breed!" Rolff snarled at the elf-blood, towering over her downed form in the snow. "You think you're above the others simply because you have Nord blood, but to me? You're still nothing more than a damned gray-skin!"

Urd's bloodied and broken lips snarled as she felt her rage overflow in her, kicking herself up from a pounce after she'd shook off the initial daze from the punch. She hurled herself into a startled Rolff's midsection, and threw them both into the snow… A cloud of frost billowed up about the tousling pair wrestling in the snowdrifts before Urd managed to roll on top of him, holding the Nord by the front of his tunic and throwing a few good blows to his face.

Angrenor stood in a stunned daze before quickly snapping out of it at the sound of Urd's bloodied knuckles striking against Rolff's mouth, prompting him to rush forward and pick up the snarling half-elf from his friend. He received a vicious elbow from a thrashing Urd to his face, sending him backwards. Rolff quickly stood as soon as he felt the weight lifted from him and looked as if he were going to charge back at Urd; but seeing his friend holding his bloodied nose and Urd's hellish red eyes glaring back at him in the moonlight reflected from the snowy streets, he second-guessed his actions.

Instead, he only spat blood at Urd's feet, his companion running back from her as she feigned a lunge at Rolff. "You only fight good because of your father's blood, Urd… But that didn't stop him from abandoning your cursed mother or you, you misbegotten bastard."

Urd looked as if she were going to charge back in, but a hand from behind seized a beefy fistful of Urd's dark hair and pulled her back down into the snow and onto her backside, feeling the cold even through the furs. She snarled and turned about to face the newcomer, but halted at the sight of a white bear's head emblazoned upon a blue-painted round shield – Windhelm guards. The elf-blood scrambled up to her feet and backpeddled from the men, knowing better than to continue fighting in their presence.

"Alright, what's all the commotion about, Rolff? Why do you look like you lost a fight with a frost troll?" one of the larger guards stepped towards the group, trying to mask his amusement in the second question.

However, Rolff was in no joking mood. Pointing a stern finger at Urd standing nearby, he snapped, "That… half-breed mongrel needs to be put down! She needs to learn her place! I want her locked up for the rest of her miserable life!"

"Ugh, harassing the gray-skins are you, Rolff?" the guardsman sighed though he did nod to his comrades. A female guard grabbed Urd's wrists at his gesture and clapped them in iron shackles before she handed it off to a third male who stood quietly observing. "You've already been told to quit inciting them. We've enough problems without you prompting the dark elves to attack you..."

"I don't see how that is any of your business, Borik," Rolff huffed as if offended. "They come into our city when they aren't wanted, pollute our city with their filth, and they refuse to help the Stormcloaks! They are parasites, taking what should belong to us Nords. This is our home, ours!"

Urd could bite her tongue no longer, taking a step forward though her shackles held by the other guard kept her back from resuming her brawl with Rolff. "I _am_ a Nord, like my father before me!" she spat venomously, struggling against the chains that bound her. "I was born in this city, and this is just as much my home as it is any Nords!"

"Feh!" Rolff scoffed. "Last I checked, Nords had no gray-skin… And if you were a true Nord, you would help the Stormcloaks instead of sittin' around in your cornerclubs and shelters we so graciously provided you."

"Graciously?" Urd echoed, indignantly. "You gave us slums!"

"Why, you ungrateful sow!" Rolff snarled, but the guardsmen had heard enough.

"Alright, that's enough out of you," Borik turned to face the half-breed, taking her chains himself from his comrade. "A night in the cells ought to cool you off. As for you, Rolff, go home and stay out of trouble. I want the rest of the night to be quiet, do you understand?"

"...He punches me, and I get arrested," Urd muttered, though she wasn't surprised. This was a fact of life for the Dunmer of Windhelm, even for half-bloods.

"Hmph..." Rolff didn't even agree to the terms, only giving Urd one more sneer before turning about with Angrenor to continue through the Gray Quarter and round the bend that lead to the docks, likely to harass some Argonians next…

Urd returned the stare and watched them depart, before she felt her shackles cut into her cold skin as she was pulled to follow the guardsmen. Trailing behind them with heavy footfalls, Urd looked behind her to where her lute had fallen, surrounded by blood and packed snow from the scuffle. She stopped, and the guardsmen halted, Borik grunting in annoyance. "What is it, elf?"

"My lute…" she sighed, her resigned breath forming into a cloud of cold. "Do you mind if I pick up my lute? It was very expensive..."

* * *

 _A gray overcast sky hung heavy above Windhelm, shedding crystalline tears upon the ancient city as soldiers gathered before the Palace of Kings in preparation for war. Among them stood a silver-haired man who was silent and kept his storm-gray gaze fixated forward as young Ulfric Stormcloak addressed his men while an aged Jarl Hoag looked proudly to his son._

" _The Reach will be reclaimed for Skyrim and her people… And under Jarl Hrolfdir, we will be free to worship Talos again!" Ulfric raised an axe_ _high_ _, the men and women gathered before him roaring and cheering for the promise. "Hold by hold, we will free Skyrim and her people and restore to her her most favored son. For Talos! For Skyrim!"_

 _ **-"FOR TALOS! FOR SKYRIM!"-**_

 _A_ _s the men rallied quieted when Ulfric stepped down to prepare for their departure, the snowy-haired Nord looked about the crowd for his own beloved, scanning the sea of pale faces for the sight of gray..._

" _Otin!"_

" _Sybola!" he waded past his comrades to the dark elven woman, catching her in his arms as she burst through the well-wishers and weeping wives and mothers who bid their sons and daughters farewell. There were gasps and even scornful whispers from the soldiers at Sybola's impudence, but she largely disregarded them – looking to her beloved with tears in her crimson eyes._

" _You mustn't go… You told me yourself that your fighting days were done," her bottom lip trembled as Otin's hand reached up to cup her tear-stained cheek affectionately._

" _I am sorry, Sybola," he said, moving to brush her twirled dark locks from her face as they were tousled by the bitter wind that whipped about them. "But, this is what I must do… How can I call myself a true Nord if I don't take up arms to fight with my brothers and sisters?"_

" _And what of our child…?" Sybola jerked her head from his touch, her voice indignant and stung with betrayal. All around the couple, men and soldiers gasped and muttered in disbelief at what they were hearing while women cupped their hands near their mouths to gossip amongst themselves. The woman's glare was hard and unyielding as she looked to her beloved's face searchingly._

 _Otin's expression was unreadable, but his eyes did glance down and his hand rested at his love's flat belly. She showed no obvious signs of pregnancy, but he knew in his heart she would never make up such a story to ensnare him. Her mastery of the healing arts and knowledge of anatomy and medicine was unmatched in Windhelm. Looking to her, he pressed a kiss to her high brow, sighing. "Our child will be fine, no matter what happens, Sybola. You must have faith."_

 _Sybola opened her lips to argue, but was cut off by the call of the battle-horn, signaling the start of their march. Knowing it was too late to dissuade him, the dark elf simply turned her head, sniffing back any further tears that stung her ruby red hues._

 _Otin looked to the woman with deep sympathy and pulled her into a tight albeit brief embrace, before he turned to join the others as the Nordic legionaries poured from the front gates as they marched through the main square to the bridge. Sybola choked back a sob and fell on her knees as she watched her beloved depart for the last time…_

 _The air stilled as Otin halted in his steps, turning about to face the wife and soon-to-be child he was leaving behind. The sky seemed to darken as many of his comrades, once on their feet_ _and joining what was to be a glorious procession out the city_ _, laid dead about him, himself clutching a wounded belly and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth._ _His lips parted and he seemed to look to Urd, who found herself marveling at the sudden change of setting._

 _The city itself about them had changed and was carved into a mountain side. The buildings and streets were lined with stone, metal, and steam hissed from between the cracks in the landscape. It was Markarth, the City of Blood and Silver… Where Otin Blood-Banner fell twenty five years ago._

" _It is all up to you now, Urd… You must fight for our people, and for your mother's. You must free Skyrim." He dropped to his knees, Urd rushing past her grieving mother to reach her father. However, no matter how hard she tried, her legs simply wouldn't obey her. He seemed ever more distant, no matter how hard she ran. Hand outstretched, Urd's eyes widened as a shadowy figure with deer antlers on his head appeared behind her father, hoisting an axe high and poised to cut the downed Nord in two. His final words before Urd watched in horror as her father's head rolled from his body: "For Talos."_

* * *

"FATHER!" Urd's voice was sore, so she knew she had been screaming. She sat upright in the scratchy loose hay that lined her cell floor and shook her head, trying to ignore the throbbing sensation that was only matched by her rapidly beating heart. Her chest ached, and her limbs trembled… With a heavy sigh, she ran both her hands down her sweat-matted face, before her pointed ears perked up at the sound of her cell door being unlocked.

Lifting her hands from her face, Urd saw the jailer swing open the door, racing in and startling the awakened half-elf. Watching the woman from behind the dark-shadows that formed his helmet's eyes with sword and shield at the ready, the guard seemed to look about the cell, before his stare fell hard on the half-breed. Urd's eyes widen fearfully, daring not make a sound, before a wave of relief washed over her as the guard sheathed his sword. "Keep it down in here!" he barked testily, likely woken from napping in a chair by Urd's shouting. "You were howling like a sabre cat!"

"Sorry," Urd grumbled weakly, her head coming out of the dream-like haze and taking in her surroundings. As the wrought iron bars creaked and slammed shut, Urd shifted in her makeshift bed to sit upright, doing her best to ignore the menagerie of smells that assaulted her nose. The itchiness of her bed was only matched by her ragged clothes that were given to her when the guards stripped her of her gear to ensure she wasn't hiding weapons, lockpicks, or skooma.

Despite the bleakness of her situation, she thought at length about the dream while it was still somewhat fresh in her mind…

Otin had died before Urd was even born, so she didn't know his face. Although, she had been told of him so often that she easily discerned that the man with the snow-white hair and proud stormy eyes was in fact the man who'd sired her. She could see how her mother had fallen for him.

She'd been told that her parents met when her father made his way out to Solsthiem and met her mother, Sybola, while she worked as an alchemist's apprentice out in Raven Rock. It didn't take long for the young Dunmer to become smitten with the young and handsome warrior, who so constantly needed to be treated with varying battle-scars. She even took to wandering with him as he explored the island. When he was called back to Windhelm, Sybola followed, only to become pregnant and lose her beloved months later. She herself passed when Urd was barely ten years old.

"How much longer is this waiting going to last?" Urd heard a female voice gripe nearby, at the jailer's table from the sound of it. "We've been quiet for too long and this war is dragging..."

"Mind your tongue, Fridah," the jailer from before grumbled, heavy with drowsiness. Urd vaguely wondered how long she had been in her cell, was it morning already or still night?

"I meant no disrespect of course," the woman offered. "It's just that… the longer we wait, the more ground we give to the Imperials and the Thalmor to do as they please in Skyrim. My cousin in the Rift? Her husband was taken by those damned elves under suspicion of Talos worship. They didn't even have legitimate proof!"

The man heaved a sigh, something of a mix of sympathy and reluctant agreement. "Ulfric knows what is best for all of us. I am sure he is going to act soon and we'll free all those the Thalmor have captured."

"I hope so..."

All conversation halted as the door near the barracks swung open and heavy footsteps thudded on the stone floor before it halted in front of Urd's cell. "Blood-Banner." The half-breed picked up her head and looked to a large imposing figure before the bars. He lacked a helm, but as soon as he spoke, Urd recognized him to be Borik, the arresting guardsman from the previous night. "Your fine has been paid… Stay out of trouble with Rolff, understand? Next time won't be so easy..."

Urd stood up, brushing the straw from her rear as she grumbled to herself, "For him or for me?"

She walked past the guard who followed after her, reaching the jailer's table to retrieve her lute and clothes. The two guardsmen, the male sitting beside the evidence locker and the female leaning against the edge with her arms folded over her chest, watched Urd carefully as the dark elf whistled a tune while she boldly stripped herself of her rags and redressed in her street clothes. After tugging her tunic over her head, she took to busying herself with counting her coins on her belt after it was dropped in front of her. Urd's red eyes flicked up to the woman before her whistling halted.

"I'm sorry about your cousin," she said, "I really am."

Fridah jolted a bit and Urd could almost feel the venom in the guardswoman's stare from behind the helmet."I don't need your pity, half-breed." Whether her anger was at Urd for having elven blood or for having her conversation eavesdropped on or even both, Urd ignored the obvious disdain and turned on her heel to walk with Borik as he escorted her out.

As the pair made their way past the barracks, Urd endured all the harsh stares and even derogatory names and jeers from the guards and Stormcloak soldiers with a dignified and unfazed candor. Just as they entered the main hall, Borik halted dead in his tracks as Urd asked, "Would it be possible to have an audience with Jarl Ulfric?"

"What?" The guard turned to face her, questioning if she was serious. His voice dropped dangerously low, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What for?"

"I want to join the Stormcloaks."

* * *

 **A/N: Well, this was actually fun to complete! I haven't completed and posted a fan-fiction since 2014, so there are definitely a lot of cobwebs to shake off and I am more than a tad rusty. (I apologize in advance for any errors or the like.) However, I am actually proud of this and hope you guys will look forward to new works coming. This is going to be an ongoing piece and I am looking to publish a few more works alongside it. I will try to at least post on a weekly to bi-weekly basis.**

 **Got comments or questions? Feel free to PM me! Also, leave a review as it will help me know how well I am doing! Thank you all for reading :)**


	2. Joining the Stormcloaks

Chapter Two: Joining the Stormcloaks

"Balgruuf won't give us a straight answer..." Galmar Stone-Fist's voice rumbled, coarse yet solid as the very stones that built the ancient Palace of Kings. He approached the great throne where Ulfric Stormcloak himself sat beneath a stone emblem of a snarling bear's head, the emblem of his hold and the heart of his rebellion's war-banner.

"He's a true Nord," Ulfric answered simply, his eyes not even addressing his friend as the jarl seemed lost in thought. "He'll come around."

However, Galmar wouldn't be ignored, especially not when so much hinged on the heartland of the province. He knew that if Whiterun fell totally under Imperial control, then the odds of the war would be significantly stacked against them. The old warrior persisted. "I wouldn't be so sure, old friend. Our soldiers have intercepted Imperial couriers in the hold. The Empire is putting a great deal of pressure on Whiterun."

Ulfric rose from his throne with a small sigh, the footfalls of his boots as he descended down the stone-steps that paved up to the ancient seat of power echoing throughout the great hall. It seemed a fitting throne for a man who claimed to be the true High King of Skyrim as in days long past, Windhelm was the home of many kings – the dynasty of Ysgramor himself.

"You think I should send him a stronger message?" Ulfric prompted his second-in-command as he made his way to the western wing of the hall that housed the map of all Skyrim. The jarl's eyes seemed trained on the white flag that stood out of Whiterun.

Galmar snorted at the question. "If by message, you mean… 'shove a sword through his gullet'," he then slammed his fist against the table. "If he isn't with us, he's against us!"

Ulfric frowned at this. While Jorleif, who was of more common stock, was best suited concerning the matters of home, Galmar was ever a soldier and one of the finest Windhelm had to offer. Ulfric rested much of the success of his rebellion on the shoulders of the old warrior. However, it was times like this that Galmar could only ever have the mind of a soldier and fail to see the grander scale of his actions. "Taking his city and leaving him in disgrace would be a more powerful statement, don't you think?"

Galmar opened his mouth to speak, but before he could retort, a great ruckus erupted from the hall behind them. An iron door crashed open as a woman's voice called. "I wish to speak with Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak!"

Both jarl and housecarl exchanged confused stares before they frowned and exited the war room to investigate.

"What in Oblivion are you on about, girl?" Jorleif already had guards restraining the dark-elven woman. "The jarl is not receiving any visitors today, especially not from the likes of you!"

"I am not just any dark elf, sera," she struggled against the two guards that held her arms, putting up all the fight she could muster. "Grh, I am Urd Blood-Banner, a true daughter of Skyrim! Please, I must speak with Ulfric!"

"You watch your tongue, wretch! That is the true High King you are addressing!" Jorleif pointed to the guards that held her. "What're you two standing around for? Take her away!"

"Wait," Ulfric's voice was enough to make everyone in the hall freeze in place… Even Urd ceased her thrashing. "I want to hear what she has to say." The jarl marched closer, looking down at the woman who was thrown by the guards to get on her knees before him. She remained still and silent, even bowing her head in reverence as she waited for Ulfric to speak first.

"Only the brave or the foolish demand an audience with a jarl without first being summoned," he began. "But, your name… What was it again?"

"Urd, my Jarl," Urd kept her head bowed, only daring to lift her crimson eyes to steal brief glances at him. "My name is Urd Blood-Banner, daughter of Otin."

"Otin," Ulfric echoed the name, looking deep in thought. "Ahh, yes. He marched with us to Markarth all those years ago. Damned good man… He fought fiercely until the very end. It's a pity. He would've made a fine Stormcloak."

Urd lifted her head at this, her voice, though shaky, was made transparent with her conviction. "I-It's why I want to join! I want to carry my father's name in your service once more… I want to be a Stormcloak and fight for Skyrim!"

"An elf, fighting for Skyrim?" Galmar seemed in disbelief, almost dismissing her, but Urd interjected. "Skyrim is my home! I was born here!"

"Yes, but are you willing to die for your home?" Galmar pressed, his cold icy stare narrowing at the woman on her knees.

Urd returned the stare unflinchingly, gritting her teeth a moment as she nodded. "Talos as my witness. I want to prove that I am my father's daughter; that I am a daughter of Skyrim!"

Ulfric smiled at that. _The day I would see an elf swear by Talos… Hmm._ "Otin's daughter indeed," he mused. "Well, we shall see if you can back up your talk with action." He then looked to Galmar a moment and gave a slight nod. "Galmar, give her the test and see if she's anything like her father."

The housecarl laughed gruffly at that as Ulfric turned to return to the war room, leaving Urd dumbfounded on the floor. Galmar faced the guards, his smile gone, barking at them, "Alright, boys, let her up. You, stand upright. Act like the Stormcloak you want to be!"

As soon as the dark elf heard the men retreat, Urd scrambled upright and stood at attention, keeping her gaze fixated on the Nord.

Galmar seemed to size her up before he grinned and nodded. "Alright, we'll see if you're actual Stormcloak material. I am sending you to Serpentstone Island, northeast of here… Something about that place attracts ice wraiths. You kill one, and you're one of us. Got it?"

Urd couldn't stop herself from smiling, but quickly caught herself and cleared her throat. She nodded sternly. "Y-Yes, sir. I'll leave immediately."

"Hmph. Try not to die," Galmar offered before he turned his back to her and proceeded to join Ulfric. Urd didn't linger, however… Far too eager to begin her journey. As soon as the half-breed was gone, Ulfric emerged from the war room, commenting, "I'd heard that Otin had a dark elf woman back home, but I didn't know that a child resulted from it."

Galmar shrugged before he snorted. "Feh… I heard, but chalked it up to hearsay." He folded his arms over his broad chest. "It doesn't matter to me though… So long as she is willing to fight for Skyrim, I'll take her."

To which Ulfric nodded in agreement, before he continued on to his throne and motioned for his housecarl to follow. "So she claims is her reason. There's much we've to learn about her. Tell me, Galmar… Why do you fight for me?"

"I'd follow you into Oblivion and back," Galmar responded quickly. "You know this."

Ulfric turned to face him. "Yes, but _why_ do you fight? If not for me, then what?"

"I'd sooner die before I let elves dictate the fates of men," he asserted. "Are we not one on this?"

"I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil!" His voice thundered as powerful as a Thu'um across the Palace, making even the guards in the barracks flinch at the sound. The very walls themselves seemed to shake, awakened by the voice of a true Nord. "I fight for their wives and children, whose names I heard whispered in their last breath. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces. I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing! I fight..." He paused to seat himself upon the throne once more, seeming burdened by the speech or moreso for the weight of the conviction it held. "...because I must."

Galmar stood silent, moved by Ulfric's words but also incensed by it as he nodded in agreement with his oldest friend. "Your words," he began softly, rare for a man like him, "...give voice to what we all believe, Ulfric, but the day that words are enough? That will be the day when warriors like us are no longer needed."

Ulfric sighed, his eyes staring off into some ethereal distance once more. "I would gladly retire from this world, were such a day to dawn."

* * *

"You want how many septims for this?!" Revyn Sadri held up the small ring to Urd's face as if to emphasize the utter absurdity of her offer.

"At least 1,000, Sadri," Urd pressed, pushing his hand away from her face in mild annoyance.

"AT LEAST?!" Sadri barked, before he groaned. "Azura, girl. You act as if septims come easy here."

"Ulundil won't budge on the price for a horse," she insisted. "Not to mention, I may need to borrow some fifty pieces more so that I can buy some supplies. It's half a day's ride to the island."

The pawnbroker blinked his red eyes in disbelief before he set the ring down on the counter and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Urd, of all the lame-brained things you've set your mind to… What in Oblivion are you even trying to prove?"

"I am trying to prove that Windhelm is my home," she slammed both her hands on the countertop, giving the shopkeeper a start. "And that I am just as much a Nord as anyone else." Her tone softened a tad as she added, "Besides, maybe if I do this? It will prove to Ulfric and his men once and for all that we belong here, too. We may be treated fairly for a change."

Sadri snorted. "Truly, girl? Are you that thick?" He shook his head before resting a hand on her shoulder. "Even if you manage to get into the rebellion and carve your way to fortune and glory, the Nords will never see an equal, Urd. They will only ever see a dark elf."

"It's worth a try, Sadri," she sighed before shaking her head. She lifted her lute from her back, the instrument making a hollow thud as it was dropped to the counter. "Here, I'll throw in my lute as well. Should that and my mother's ring be enough?"

It was Sadri's turn to sigh. "You really won't give up, will you? Next I suspect you'll try and rob me just to get the gold you need."

"Will I though, Sadri?" Urd's voice was playful, but Sadri relented nonetheless.

"Oh, by Azura's grace, fine! For a genuine ebony and bloodstone ring from Mournhold and a well-kept lute, I will give you…" He held up the ring to examine it in the light some before clasping it in his dark hands. "... seventy five gold pieces."

"What?!" Urd's fist shot forward attempting to grasp at Revyn's tunic to shake him down, but the older dark elf merely held out his free arm to hold the flailing Urd by her brow. "Hold up, I will give you seventy-five gold pieces _and_ a promissory note for Ulundil to come to my shop later and I will give him the 1,000 septims you need for a horse."

Urd stood dumbfounded a moment, unsure of whether he was being sincere at first before she smiled at that. "You mean it, Sadri?"

The old pawnbroker nodded. "Of course. You think I'm going to just shove 1,000 gold into your pocket and send you on your way? Get serious, Urd." He lowered his hand from Urd's brow with a sigh before he ducked behind the counter a moment to rummage through a small box he used as a till. "Seventy-five should be enough to get you supplies, a weapon, and then some… If you've trouble finding anything useful..." He stood up and cinched a hefty coin purse for her, tossing it to the dark elf woman. "Find Aval and talk to him about some discounted merchandise."

Urd caught the coin purse and her smile broadened. "Thank you, Sadri. I promise, I'll return the favor one day..."

"Count on it, Urd," he sighed, rubbing at his brow to nurse the growing headache. "Normally, I wouldn't do a thing to help Ulfric and his thugs, but seeing as you are a Dunmer as well? I'll let it slide this once. You just have to promise one thing..."

The half-breed paused as she was about to leave, canting her head as she eyed Sadri. "Hm?"

"I know you like to honor your namesake, but never forget that you are a dark elf, too," he nodded. "You should do your people honor, even if you do join the Stormcloaks, or forever be dead to us… Is that understandable?"

Urd thought a moment at that. She may have sounded as if she hated being compared to a dark elf, but the fact was she was proud of who she was… Be it Nord or dark elf. It was simply hard to have to choose between the worlds, but she knew that if she really tried? Maybe there was a chance she wouldn't have to… She smiled wide before nodding. "You have my word, Sadri. Say goodbye to Auntie Lua for me as well? I want to set out before sunset..."

"Sure, sure," Sadri waved his hand dismissively, but did sincerely offer her the best of luck as the shop's door slammed behind her. "Azura's wisdom to you, Urd. I hope you come back in one piece..."

* * *

 **A/N: This one is relatively short, I know, but I wanted the next sequence to all flow together in one go. I am also trying to keep up with that post at least once in a one-to-two week basis to keep the story active. I also apologize for you all having to read a rehash of that famous speech, but they are essential to the story I feel. Say what you will about Ulfric, but the man knows how to stir hearts with words. I am also aware I may not have gotten every bit of quest dialogue correct, but it had been years since I played Skyrim until recently. What I used to know by heart kind of fell out of my mental library and I had to rely on memory often with this.**

 **Again, I am hugely grateful for the support I get for this story as it encourages me a lot and am looking forward to more feedback! Please feel free to leave a review and tell me what you think. :)**


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